Requiem
by SpobyFicStalker
Summary: "'How much do you know of what happened to your mom when she was young' Emily finally asked, and Aaron just shrugged." Sequel to A Beautiful Mind. Oneshot.


A/N: The sequel to A Beautiful Mind, as promised. I'm really nervous about this because I realize it's probably not what you were hoping/expecting. All I can say is I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me, but when people asked for a sequel this is what came to mind. Give it a chance? If you've reached the end and you hate it, you can tell me. But gently, okay? Thanks.

Again, you might want to read A Beautiful Mind before you read this, or things might just get horribly confusing. It is not necessary to read the prequel, Come Back To Me, which I posted last week.

Which brings me to my next point. Thank you, as always, for the amazing feedback on Come Back To Me. (A special shout out to the first time anonymous reviewer: you may think that kind of praise means nothing to me anymore but I'd actually just had a really bad day when I read that, and it made me feel... not completely useless? Okay that just made me sound like an attention seeking narcissist, not to mention a complete drama queen, but I just wanted to say thank you because your comment perked me up when I desperately needed it.)

* * *

**Requiem**

"There's something really wrong with Mom," Aaron Cavanaugh told his godmother, Emily, as they say across from each other in Emily's small but cozy home, which she kept immaculate despite her age.

"Why?" Emily asked uneasily, her hands slightly unsteady as she poured them both a cup of tea.

Aaron shook his head as if he didn't know where to begin. "She has this empty look in her eyes," he began, carefully trying to articulate what exactly it was that had him worried. "It's as if she's constantly checked out. Even when she's sitting in front of you, she's not… _there_."

Emily patted his hand. He was a man now, and had been for quite some time, but she could still picture the little boy he used to be with vigor and affection. "Honey, we might have to cut her some slack. She's going through an unimaginable loss. Your parents…" Emily shook her head, smiling sadly. "The way the loved each other made the rest of us look like amateurs."

Aaron nodded in agreement, feeling that no words were necessary. It was true. He'd always felt it, even as a small child. How his mother was never truly at peace when his father wasn't around; and how his father's unyielding devotion to her surpassed any other emotion or behavior ingrained into man.

He knew his mother had always been delicate. Some days it was more noticeable than others, and at these times he and his sister had known without being told that they had to be gentle with her. He still remembered the relief he would feel when his father came home on these days, so Aaron could watch him put his arms around her and restore order to her world.

It was more than a little ironic that it had been his father's heart that had caused his ultimate demise. The heart that had loved with so much intensity – his wife, his children, his grandchildren – had simply stopped beating after eighty-seven years.

Heart failure. It seemed laughable to Aaron that his father's heart could ever fail anyone.

"It's more than that," he insisted. "I was with her today. She didn't want to eat, and I told her Dad wouldn't have wanted this. I told her he would have wanted to her to find a way to be happy again."

He hesitated, suddenly overwhelmed by an overpowering sense of loyalty towards his mother. As if he was failing her by revealing what happened next – something that had shaken him to the very core.

"What?" Emily asked, and Aaron found himself spilling his guts.

"She completely lost it," he spoke in a hushed tone. "She covered her face with her arms and her body started rocking back and forth, and her breathing was so fast that it sounded like she was hyperventilating. Nothing I did could make her stop; it was as if she was in a world of her own."

Emily looked frozen in her seat, her eyes wide as saucers, and it did nothing to ease Aaron's mind. "Are you sure?" she asked meekly after a moment.

"It's what happened," he told her, leaving no room for doubt. "I've never seen her do anything like that."

"No," Emily said quietly, sounding far away. "You haven't."

He sensed his godmother knew a hell of a lot more than she was telling at the moment, but something stopped him from pushing. He had known his woman his whole life. She had been a huge part of it from the day he was born, and the love and respect he felt for her bordered on what he felt towards his parents. Aaron could never figure out why Emily never found a steady partner – he remembered her having several long-term relationships, one lasting as long as twenty years, but somehow she never encountered anyone she wanted to grow old with. It was most likely the reason why she'd never had children of her own.

"How much do you know of what happened to your mom when she was young?" Emily finally asked, and Aaron just shrugged.

"Not much," he admitted. "I know her friend was murdered – your friend. I know she saw it happen, and traumatized her. I know she was never quite the same afterwards."

He knew a hell of a lot more than that, but he wasn't about to admit it. His curiosity had gotten the better of him once when he was in his early twenties, and he had googled Aria Montgomery's name one lazy Sunday afternoon in his dorm room at Vassar. The things he read quickly had him throwing his laptop shut with shaking hands.

Emily was nodding, and soon elaborated. "The first few years were absolute hell. She'd have episodes so vicious they completely removed her from reality. In the beginning, your father was the only one who could bring her back. He taught the rest of us how to do it, but I always got the feeling she came back only for him. I truly believe to this day that if it wasn't for him, she would have stayed locked in her own mind forever."

"He gave her a reason to want to come back," Aaron concluded, and Emily nodded. She mulled her words over carefully before speaking again.

"At the time, I thought it was because she just loved him so much," she began. "And that was a big part of it, I'm sure… but when I look back now I think it was more. " Again, Emily paused, wanting to get her words straight. She let out a long breath. "She was questioning life and mankind in the worst possible way. The things she'd seen made her view the world as one big horrible place that she didn't want to be a part of anymore. Her episodes, as awful as they were, offered her an escape from the real world because in those moments, that was even more terrifying to her."

Emily smiled sadly, a far away look in her eyes, and Aaron was startled to see her lower lip tremble. "That's why your father could reach her when no one else could," she went on. "Because she viewed him as something so good that evil simply didn't exist when he was around."

Aaron felt a lump rise in his throat. It was only too easy to imagine. His father had always had an aura about him that exuded peace, comfort and an overwhelming sense of safety. There was just something about him that had slowed people's heartbeats.

"So what happened?" Aaron wanted to know; because granted, his mother had had regular bad days when he was growing up, but she'd also had about ten times as many good ones. She had been an exceptional mother – firm but fair, loving but determined. She'd baked them cookies and read them stories; she'd made them laugh with puppet shows and magic tricks. She'd told them over and over that they could be anything they wanted in this life, and that she would always be behind them no matter what they chose.

It seemed a far cry from the mess of a human being Emily was now describing.

"You did," his godmother said softly, and she smiled a little. "She had you, and then Serene. You gave her the push she needed, and she broke free. She never had another episode again."

Emily said no more, and Aaron didn't understand why she didn't look happier that his mother had been able to put her demons to rest. But when she met his eyes with deliberate neutrality, he got it.

"Until now," he realized, because that was what he had witnessed earlier today. It was what his father's death had pushed his mother into.

An episode.

They sat in silence for a while, not knowing how to proceed. Trying to come to terms with what was going on and the utter helplessness it brought with it. As much as they could try to make things easier on her, Aaron knew no one could ever give her what she truly wanted.

"Maybe it was just a one-off," he spoke finally, staring out in front of him but not really seeing anything.

His godmother's gaze was unconvinced, but she didn't contradict him. "Maybe," she allowed. "But just in case it happens again, here's what you do…"

* * *

It was noisy inside the nursing home, and it made Serene cringe. She still didn't completely grasp why her parents had opted to give up their beautiful home and move here a few months prior to her father's passing. They'd claimed to want to enjoy each other for the time they had left, without the stress of cleaning and cooking and other household duties. But sometimes Serene wondered if it was more than that. Sometimes she wondered if it had been her father's way of making sure his wife would be looked after from beyond his grave.

"Mom?" she called quietly, pushing the door open to her mother's room.

It was dark inside, and eerily still compared to the commotion going on in the halls. Her mother was sitting in her usual spot: her rocking chair by the window, gazing outside though Serene doubted she even saw what was going on.

"Mom?" she tried again, placing her hand on the older woman's shoulder, and Spencer started.

"It's me," she felt the need to say, even though it was probably unnecessary. She leaned in to give her mother a gentle hug. "I brought you these."

Serene had spent the better part of her morning searching for the largest, juiciest strawberries she could find, knowing they were her mother's favorite. In the two weeks since her father's death, her mother had taken alarmingly little interest in food. Serene hoped to entice her mother with the fruity deliciousness, thinking maybe that might help get her appetite up.

"Thank you," Spencer mumbled disinterestedly, setting the tiny crate aside, and Serene's heart sank.

"How are you?" Serene asked, reaching out to comb back one of her mother's grey curls with her fingers. She was eighty-six years old, but still every bit as beautiful as she had been at sixteen, with smooth, soft skin, heart-shaped lips and dark, fiery eyes, even if lately they had lost their spark.

"All right," was the reply, though it was thoroughly unconvincing. Her voice sounded weak and hoarse, Serene thought, like she hadn't been using it very often lately.

"What have you been up to?" Serene prodded as gently as she could. Striking up a conversation with her mother was almost as difficult as getting her to eat. It seemed all Spencer was interested in doing anymore was sitting in her chair in silence and staring outside.

Spencer closed her eyes, and Serene strongly suspected she was attempting to drown out her surroundings. It couldn't be more obvious that even the most basic of small talk with her own daughter was incredibly tiring for her. "Nothing much," she said after a moment, and Serene noticed how her lips barely moved as she spoke.

"Hey," she piped up, forcing some excitement into her voice. "Aaron wanted me to tell you that Elliot and Kayla are on their way to the hospital. The baby is coming today, Mom."

For a slight instant, life flared up in Spencer's eyes at the mention of her oldest grandson and his wife, excitedly awaiting the arrival of their first child. But it gave away to melancholy almost as soon as it arrived, and Serene could only stand by helplessly and watch how her mother – the strongest, feistiest person she knew – didn't even try to fight it.

"Mom, what is it?" she spoke out desperately. "Do you not like it here? You don't have to stay here if you don't want, you know you can come live with Dax and me."

At this, Spencer slowly reached out and clasped one of her daughter's hands between both of her own. She shook her head and finally made eye contact, her gaze grief-stricken but lucid.

"You were always such a good girl," she murmured, her thumb stroking the back of Serene's hand. A ghost of a smile washed over her face before she added, "Except that time when you were two and you threw a fit at the shoe store because I wouldn't buy you those hideous pink sneakers."

Serene smiled. She had been too young at the time to be able to recall this incident, but she'd been teased about it for as long as she remembered.

"You and your brother," Spencer went on, her voice sounding broken but warm. "You were the best thing I ever did. The greatest thing I ever accomplished. And I'm so proud of who you've both become."

It was the most forthcoming her mother had been since her father's death, and the words touched Serene's heart in a totally unexpected way. But then Spencer's face contorted into something so awful, so terrible that for a moment Serene worried she was in physical pain.

"But without your father…" She swallowed. "My world is dark. It's unbearable, and I can't stand it."

Tears stung in Serene's eyes. She, too, had yet to learn to live a life where her father didn't exist. He had been her biggest hero growing up, her knight in shining armor, and she had adored him with every breath she took. He'd set the bar for how she deserved to be treated by the men in her life, and he'd taught her without ever having to say a word that she should never settle for anything less.

Serene had been over thirty when she finally found her prince, but Dax was well worth the wait and she knew she had her father to thank for that.

"I'm so sorry, Mom," she whispered. "I know how much you miss him."

Spencer did not reply. She just drew her hands back and lowered her eyes, and Serene winced at the deep pain splayed across her face. She'd never known loss to take such a physical effect on someone as it currently did with her mother.

"Do you want to go for a walk outside?" she made one last effort to engage Spencer into something she used to enjoy. "It's beautiful out."

But the older woman just shook her head tiredly. She looked down at her lap for a moment before leaning back and closing her eyes, and it was only then that Serene noticed the picture frame she held between her wrinkled yet still elegant hands.

Atop Spencer's chest of drawers was a whole display of family pictures – the four of them, Aaron and Serene when they were babies, and of course the grandkids at all ages. But the photo Spencer held in her lap was of her and her husband, when they more barely more than kids themselves.

It had always been one of Serene's favorite pictures of them. They were facing each other, and her father leaned his forehead against her mother's, their noses touching, their mouths curled up into blissful smiles. They looked so young and so in love, and Serene knew it had been taken before the event that would alter both their lives forever. But the most beautiful part of it was, it hadn't changed them. Till the very end, it had been blatantly obvious to everyone with eyes that they had remained just young and in love as they were in that photo.

Still clutching the picture frame, Spencer didn't open her eyes for the entire time her daughter was there. It pained Serene to no end when the thought struck her that maybe her mother didn't even want to wake up.

* * *

"Don't freak out when you see her," Aaron quietly told his son, while his daughter-in-law fetched their brand new baby from the car seat.

"Why?" Elliot demanded, worry creeping up his spine. "What's wrong with her?"

"Physically? Nothing much," Aaron informed him with a deep sigh. "But she's not the person you knew. Ever since Grandpa died… it's like she just doesn't see the point in living anymore."

Elliot didn't like what he was hearing. His grandparents had played such a monumental part in developing the person he was today, and they meant so much to him. As if it wasn't hard enough that his grandfather was no longer with them, narrowly missing the birth of his first great-grandchild, now his grandmother also seemed to be slipping away. It was like losing them both at once.

"Maybe she'll snap out of it once she sees the baby," Elliot tried the optimistic approach, smiling at his wife as she approached him with their bundle of joy.

His father didn't reply, but instead headed inside the nursing home, the young couple and their newborn at his heels. They walked through the long halls of the building, knocking lightly on the appropriate door before entering quietly.

Spencer was sitting in her usual spot in the rocking chair by the window, still and calm and beautiful.

"Hi, Grandma," Elliot greeted softly, bending down to kiss her cheek. He saw how she tried so hard to smile for him, but in muscles in her face barely moved. Squeezing her shoulder, he suddenly felt emotional. "We wanted you to meet someone."

He carefully took his baby from Kayla and placed it gently in Spencer's arms before she could do anything preposterous like protest.

"Open your eyes, little guy," Elliot cooed softly to his little son, taking his tiny, baby fist between his fingers. "Open your eyes for your great-grandma."

It worked. The infant gurgled and slowly peeled back his eyelashes, revealing striking blue eyes, and Elliot heard his grandmother gasp.

"We named him Toby," he informed her quietly. "Tobias Elliot Cavanaugh. When he first opened his eyes, we knew that was his name."

Spencer didn't say a word, but she stared down at the baby in awe as a few tears slipped down her face. Genetics were a funny thing. It was remarkable, unbelievable almost, how these eyes had survived three generations when no one else in the family had them. Aaron and Serene both had their mother's big, dark orbs; and Aaron's three kids as well as Serene's daughter all had more undefined colors: greens and grays and hazels.

But now, looking in to the clear, turquoise shade of baby Toby's irises, there was absolutely no doubt that it was the kind of blue that would stay blue forever.

The room was still as Spencer held her great-grandson for what seemed like eternity, gently rocking him in the very chair her husband had crafted for her before he even became her husband. Her gaze never wavered from the tiny child in her arms, even after his eyes fell closed and she could no longer see the comfort of his clear, sapphire orbs. She didn't speak a word, and the three people around her hardly dared to breathe out of fear of disturbing the temporary peace she seemed to have found.

But then the infant started to fuss. He squirmed, his little face contorting into something unhappy, and let out a low wail. Spencer looked up, alarmed, and Kayla immediately stepped forward.

"It's okay," she assured graciously, taking her child from Spencer's arms. "He's probably just hungry."

And sure enough, once in his mother's secure hold, baby Toby's mouth opened and his heard turned towards her chest. Kayla said something about going back to the car to nurse him, but her words were drowned in the baby's suddenly loud cries of protest.

Kayla immediately left the room, but it was too late. Elliot could only watch in horror as the infant's crying made his grandmother curl up into a ball, trembling and gasping for air.

"Stay back," Aaron told him, his hand connecting with his son's chest.

Elliot stood frozen in his spot as he watched his father slowly approach his hysterical grandmother. He didn't know what was going on, and his didn't grasp why his father was staying so calm. It occurred to him he should call a nurse, but it was as if he simply could not will his feet into moving.

"Mom," Aaron spoke softly. He placed his hand gently on Spencer's shoulder. "It's me."

Spencer didn't acknowledge him, but she didn't shrink away either. Without breaking the contact, Aaron slowly moved to his knees, and then carefully wrapped his elderly mother up in his embrace.

Elliot watched, still aghast. His grandmother suddenly look so tiny in his father's arms, so fragile as she sat there, trembling like a leaf, that it brought involuntary tears to his eyes. Why hadn't anyone told him this was going on? He knew she'd been having a rough time ever since his grandfather died, but this was something else altogether. This was simply too intolerable to watch.

Gradually, so gradually, she calmed down. Her breathing evened out, and she stopped shaking. She was limp in Aaron's arms for at least as long before she finally pulled back, pushing against his shoulders, her eyes downcast.

"Water," she rasped, and Elliot jumped, grateful to finally be able to make himself useful.

But by the time he'd returned with a glass filled to the brim, his grandmother seemed to have fallen asleep. Elliot exchanged a helpless look with his father, who, now that the storm had passed, looked just as miserable as he felt.

* * *

When Spencer wasn't where Aaron had promised she'd be – in the rocking chair by the window – Emily's heart did a double take and her fist curled around the doorknob in terror.

Seconds later, though, her eyes focused and she sighed with relief as she found her long-time friend resting on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Spencer didn't move, didn't turn her head in Emily's direction in acknowledgement, and Emily's heart sank when she moved closer and took notice of the look in Spencer's eyes. It was a look she hadn't seen in over fifty years and it tore Emily to shreds.

Seeing her perceptive, pigheaded friend like this again made Emily want to throw something expensive out the window. She had been so strong in the weeks before Toby died. She had taken care of him with the same devotion as he had taken care of her after disaster struck when they were all just kids. Everyone had anxiously wondered how she would cope once he was gone, but never once did Emily imagine her deteriorating to this. She was almost glad Toby wasn't around to see it.

"Hey, Spence," she offered softly.

Spencer didn't move, but answered almost automatically, "Hey, Em."

Emily pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed. Her hand instinctively reached for Spencer's, and she was almost surprised when the other woman didn't pull away.

Without warning, Emily's mind went back over half a century, to trying to offer Spencer solace while she was waiting for her sweetheart to make it home through one of Rosewood's nastier blizzards. She remembered how Spencer had refused any form of physical contact like it blistered her, as if comfort from anyone but Toby would tear her apart.

This was different, Emily realized, for Spencer had already been torn apart. She had nothing left to lose. She already knew the person she loved would never be coming back.

"Will you look after them?" Spencer asked suddenly, out of the blue, her voice small and almost childlike. "My babies?"

Ignoring the implication behind this request, Emily argued amusedly, "They're not babies, Spencer. Aaron's a grandpa, for God's sake."

But Spencer didn't laugh. She didn't so much as smile. "They'll always be my babies. Promise me. Promise you'll watch out for them."

"You planning on going somewhere?" Emily asked, attempting to keep her voice light even if her throat seemed to be closing up.

Spencer didn't answer the question, but repeated in a whisper, "Please promise me."

"Of course I will," Emily heard herself saying, even if she still didn't fully grasp what she was agreeing to. "I love them like they're my own. You know that."

Spencer nodded, and then gave a barely noticeable tug on Emily's hand. Emily chose to ignore her bad hip as she came to lay down next to her friend on the bed. Spencer rested her head on Emily's shoulder, and Emily sighed as her cheek connected with the top of Spencer's head.

They didn't speak for a long time, both lost in their own thoughts. It was just the two of them now. Hanna had been the first to follow Aria, succumbing to an aneurism three years ago. Caleb was still around, but now Toby, too, was on the other side.

Emily took a moment to remember her blue-eyed friend. She quickly found herself blinking back tears at the thought that the boy who had so long ago given her the courage to come to terms with who she was, was no more. But as she thought of the life he had made for himself, she couldn't help but feel an immense sense of pride on his behalf. He had endured more in his first seventeen years than most people in a lifetime, but that hadn't stopped him from devoting his entire life to the wellbeing of someone else.

Maybe it was coincidence, or maybe Spencer actually sensed what – or rather who – Emily was reminiscing over, but when she spoke the hair on the back of Emily's neck stood to attention.

"He died in my arms." Her voice was so quiet that for a second Emily wondered if it was simply her ears playing tricks on her. "Did they tell you?"

Emily nodded, unable to speak. It was Serene who had shared this particular piece of information with her, tears in her eyes as she mentioned how the nurses had had to pry Spencer away from her dead husband's body.

"He'd been deteriorating for weeks, and one day he just looked at me, and I looked at him, and we both knew," Spencer went on, her eyes fluttering open and closed a few times. "So I crawled in bed with him and put my arms around him and told him I loved him more than my own life. And you know what he said?"

Emily shook her head, her voice still lost. They had taken her breath away when they were young, but they had completely knocked the wind out of her when they were old. The way Spencer would still caress his face with nimble fingers, and Toby would still kiss her and rub their noses together when he thought no one was looking.

"He looked right at me and told me I was beautiful."

Something akin to laughter erupted from Spencer's mouth but at the same time a few tears leaked out of her eyes. "It was the last thing he ever said. And I held him until he stopped breathing."

It occurred to Emily that until now, Spencer hadn't spoken a word about her husband since his death. She wondered what prompted this change, and more importantly, why Spencer was suddenly able to keep it together so well. In the past few weeks she had regressed so much that the very mention of Toby was enough to prompt one of her episodes, and Emily instantly felt an irrational sense of hope.

Maybe Spencer was healing on the inside. Maybe she was remembering what she had to live for – her children, her grandchildren, her great-grandson – and was fighting through her pain like the trooper they all knew she was. Maybe she was throwing her demons off like she had once before.

"Remember what you promised," Spencer whispered, bringing Emily back from her reverie. But before Emily could answer, Spencer's eyes had fallen shut.

They never opened again.

Her children were devastated, the grandkids completely distraught as they were all forced to part from Spencer barely a month after they'd said goodbye to Toby. The funeral was beautiful, with more music than talking; and the picture up front was not of her alone, but of her and Toby just a few weeks before they moved out of their house. Aaron and Serene stood side by side, hand in hand, and Emily wondered as she so often did when she looked at them, how they could look like nothing out of the ordinary when in truth they were the products of the purest love she had ever seen.

Spencer was buried next to Toby like they'd always wanted, their headstones standing tall beside each other as if representing their entire intertwined life. And as she was lowered into the ground, it was Serene's daughter, Marion, who recited an excerpt from a poem by a French poet, Marie De France, about two lovers who refused to be parted even by death. Her voice rang clear into the cold, misty morning air.

"For those two,

It's just like with the sweet honeysuckle vine,

That on the hazel tree will twine,

When it fastens, slips itself right,

Around the trunk, ties itself tight,

Then the two survive together.

But should anyone try to sever them,

The hazel dies right away,

And the honeysuckle, the same day.

My love, that's our story, too,

Never you without me, me without you."


End file.
